


Jeeves and the Fatal Pride

by Wotwotleigh



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, WODEHOUSE P. G. - Works
Genre: Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wotwotleigh/pseuds/Wotwotleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Jeeves's rare character flaws lands him in the soup. Can Bertie get him out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is in response to the Yule fic prompt, "Bertie gets Jeeves out of the soup, leading to a 'first time' encounter." Enjoy, dear prompter -- the rest is coming soon!

**Title:** Jeeves and the Fatal Pride  
 **Author:** Wotwotleigh  
 **Chapter:** 1/2  
 **Pairing:** Jeeves/Bertie  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Words:** 2,187  
 **Summary:** One of Jeeves's rare character flaws lands him in the soup. Can Bertie get him out?  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters. I'm just writing this for fun.  
 **Author's Notes:** This is in response to the Yule fic prompt, "Bertie gets Jeeves out of the soup, leading to a 'first time' encounter." Enjoy, dear prompter!

If Jeeves has a fault—and I daresay you’d have to look pretty hard to spot it—it’s that the chap struggles with just a smidge of vanity.

I suppose even the best of us have our weak spots, and that is Jeeves’s. Disparage his character, and he will not bat an eyelash. Tell him he’s a chump and a fathead, and he’ll just smile knowingly, no doubt because he knows full well that you are talking out of the back of your neck. But knock his appearance, and his basest instincts – such as they are – come bubbling up to the surface.

Not that I know any of this from first-hand experience. I know better than to go about knocking Jeeves. Still, I’ve been witness to the results. Take the incident of Jeeves and Harold the spherical choir boy, for example. Jeeves discovered the tyke’s prowess as a sprinter on the flat while chasing the kid in order to fetch him a clip on the ear. He never would tell me exactly what the little blighter said to him to set him off, but I gathered it was some particularly fruity wheeze about Jeeves’s looks.

Why this should be such a sore spot for Jeeves, I could scarcely reckon. I mean to say, the chap looks more like something carved out of a slab of marble than anything human. I’m sure it’s all tied in somehow with the psychology of the individual—maybe he was spotty as a lad, or his ears stuck out, or his mother didn’t tell him often enough what a handsome little devil he was, and he never outgrew the complex it gave him in his tender years. I suppose it may always be one of the great imponderables. Still, there it is.

Whatever the reason for it, it was this little chink in his armor that led him to take an uncharacteristic plunge into the soup a few years into our association.

It happened one day in late December. A less discerning chap than Bertram might never have got on to the fact that something was wrong, but I detected a certain rumminess about his manner straight away. I woke up on the fateful morning, and it seemed to me that some of the shimmer had dropped out of his shimmy. He still flitted silently in with the kippers and toast at the appointed hour, but he drooped ever so slightly around the edges. The stuffed frog mask was plastered on a little too firmly. The footsteps were almost audible to the human ear.

At the time, I just attributed it to a late night out with the lads, for I had given him the last evening off to attend some sort of function at the Junior Ganymede, his club for gentlemen’s gentlemen. So we merely kidded about the weather a bit, as is our wont in the A. M., and then he went on about his business.

It wasn’t until that afternoon, when he asked positively mournfully if I would be dining in or at my club, that I began to worry.

“I say, Jeeves,” I said, “is anything the matter?”

“Sir?”

“You just seem a bit out of sorts, old fruit. You strike me as a man who has been given the pip in no uncertain manner.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Oh, come, Jeeves! I can tell something’s eating at you.”

“Merely a touch of fatigue, sir, no doubt brought on by the oppressive cold.”

“H’m. Well, if you say so, Jeeves. I think I shall dine out. Why don’t you take another evening off and go warm your cockles at the Junior Ganymede? I’m sure that would buck you up.”   

To my surprise, the fellow visibly winced at the suggestion. “Thank you, sir, but I believe I shall remain here. The silver is in need of polishing.”

I gave him a look. “Jeeves,” I said a bit sternly, “I happen to know that you spent the better part of the morning polishing the silver. You were hard at it when I stepped into the kitchen earlier to tell you about Freddie Widgeon falling into the pudding at the last dining committee meeting. What’s troubling you?”

He ramped the stuffed frog act up a level or two. “I regret to say that I have been expelled from the Junior Ganymede club, sir.”   

I don’t remember if I was holding anything at the time, but if I was, it slipped from my nerveless fingers. I reeled. “What!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But,” I said, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, “why?”

“I am loath to discuss it, sir.”

“Why, they must be positively barmy to drop a sterling chap like you from the roster!”

“It is kind of you to say so, sir, but I fear the decision was entirely justified. It was – an inexcusable lapse on my part.”

“But dash it, Jeeves, what could you have done to offend these blighters so much that they would hand you the mitten without so much as a by your leave? I simply can’t picture it.”

He pursed the lips. “I was involved in an altercation, sir,” he said in a crisp sort of voice.

“An altercation, Jeeves? You mean you were in a scrap of some sort?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’m dashed! What happened, Jeeves? Tell me all.”

He coughed a couple times and looked like a stuffed frog who has just swallowed a particularly distasteful fly. “If you insist, sir.”

“I do.”

“As it happens, sir, last night I was attending the quarterly meeting of the Junior Ganymede sartorial committee, of which I am a member.”

“You chaps have a whole committee for that sort of thing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. Go on, Jeeves.”

He shuddered gently, clearly still shaken by the memory of the whole sordid event. “One of the younger members, a Mr. Finch, introduced a motion that members should be allowed to remove their jackets within the confines of the club between the hours of four and six in the afternoon.”

“Good lord. That must have raised a few hackles among the lads, what?”

“Indeed, sir. The meeting had been in session for nearly two hours, and tempers were running high. A heated argument ensued between Mr. Finch and Mr. Wellsby, the committee President. I attempted to intervene, and Mr. Finch took it in poor spirit. He informed me that he was of the opinion that I ought to mind my own business, called the legitimacy of my parentage into question, and made an opprobrious remark concerning my personal appearance.” He said these last two words with a sort of delicate distaste, as if he was afraid they’d burn his lips on the way out.

“Oh, Jeeves! What did you do?”

A darker hue suffused his map, and he looked ceilingward. “I struck him, sir.”

I reeled again. “You mean you biffed him?”

“Yes, sir.”

I shook the onion. “Jeeves, I am positively blowed. You could knock me down with a toothpick.”

“It was a most grievous indiscretion, sir. I am deeply abashed.”

“No, no, Jeeves! One is surprised of course, but a chap has his pride, after all. I can scarcely believe that they would give you the boot over it, though. Why, the boys at the Drones biff each other all the time, and nobody gets the breeze up about it to any great extent.”

“The rules of the Junior Ganymede Club are considerably more stringent in this respect, sir.”  

I chewed the lip in sympathy. I was deeply moved. “Poor old Jeeves! Tough luck, old bean. Maybe they’ll come around after a little quiet reflection.”

“I doubt it, sir.”

“Will you be all right, and all that? I mean, should I stick around and supply the old moral support?”

“No, sir. It is an unfortunate turn of events, but I’m sure I shall bear up. It would not do for my own misadventure to hamper your enjoyment of the evening.”

“Well, all right, Jeeves.” I considered giving his shoulder a knead, but decided against it on reflection. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Very good, sir.”

\---

I had what was no doubt a hearty sup at the Drones, but the food turned to ashes in my mouth. As I glanced around the dining room of the old home away, I couldn’t help but wonder how I would feel if the membership committee ever sent me off with a flea in my ear. I wasn’t sure what the right word was, but I thought "inconsolable" might just about meet the case. The whole bally injustice of the thing was simply too much.

Even when Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps and Pongo Twistleton got a bet on to see who could hang a spoon from his nose longer while dancing the foxtrot, I simply could not shake the dark cloud that hung over me like a pall. Barmy had just lost the flutter by trying to hang his spoon handle end up when I got to my feet and quietly oiled out.

I came home to a quiet and darkish flat, and I thought at first that Jeeves must have decided to go out and drown his sorrows at a pub somewhere.  But upon further investigation, I found that there was a bit of light emanating from under the door of his lair.  
I stood silently without, mulling over whether I ought to rouse him. I hated to disturb the fellow, but I felt so bally awful about the whole thing that I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until I’d done something. Steeling the nerves, I rapped on his door.

Jeeves emerged a moment later, wearing a brown dressing gown and looking surprised. “May I help you, sir?” he asked.

“No, Jeeves, just wanted to chew the fat a bit. I’m awfully sorry to wake you.”  

“I was not asleep, sir.”

“Good, good. Come on out to the sitting room, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Let me make you a brandy and s.”

“Thank you, sir, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, I won’t twist your arm over it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

\---

“Now, Jeeves,” I said when we were comfortably settled, “I simply cannot abide this whole business of you being bunged out of the Ganymede on your ear. It’s a dashed breach of justice, and I won’t let it stand.”

He looked pained. “I had hoped you would let the matter rest, sir. I fear there is little to be done.”

“Is this R. Jeeves speaking?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come, come! You know better than anyone that there’s always something to be done.”

“I thank you for your concern, sir, but I must insist that—“

I cut in with an impatient gesture. “Jeeves, this is not like you. Why, if it were me sloshing around in the soup, you’d have come up with a scheme to fish me out in no time. I think you’re letting your pride nobble you.”

“Sir—“

“Well, I’m not going to stand idly by and let this iniquity go unchecked. You’ve got to let me help you, Jeeves.”

“I really do not think that there is anything that you could do, sir.”

“Nonsense. What is the name of the chappie who heads up your membership committee? The least I can do is talk to him.” I snapped my fingers. “Why, Jeeves, that’s just the ticket! Extend an invitation to the bird on my behalf. I’ll give him a good lunch here at the flat and build you up a bit. Expound on your sterling qualities, and all that sort of thing.”

I’m not sure what sort of reaction I expected, but a puff-faced and austere _nolle prosequi_ was not it. “No, sir,” said Jeeves firmly. “I should hardly advocate such a course of action.”

“Surely it’s worth a try, Jeeves!”

“I should not advocate it, sir,” he repeated, this time bunging in a solemn shake of the head for good measure. “Mr. Woodmore is a man of great conviction and character. He would not be easily plied.”

“I’m not proposing to ply him, Jeeves. Just to have a good honest chat with the blighter, man to man. Surely if he only sat down to think for a moment, he’d realize what a bloomer they've made cutting you loose. You say his name is Woodmore?”

“I _must_ insist, sir—“

I could see it was time to put down the f. “I will brook no objections, Jeeves. You know I cannot stand by and watch a pal flounder in the broth. The Code of the Woosters will not allow it. You do us both a disservice by putting your ears back in this obdurate manner. Either you invite this Woodmore over,” I said imperiously, “or I will.”

Jeeves fixed me with a positively arctic stare. “Very good, sir,” he said in his soupiest tone. “If it is agreeable to you sir, I shall retire now. Thank you, sir. Goodnight.” And he shimmered icily out.


	2. Jeeves and the Fatal Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Jeeves's rare character flaws lands him in the soup. Can Bertie get him out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in response to the Yule fic prompt, "Bertie gets Jeeves out of the soup, leading to a 'first time' encounter."

**Title:** Jeeves and the Fatal Pride  
 **Author:** Wotwotleigh  
 **Chapter:** 2/2  
 **Pairing:** Jeeves/Bertie  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Words:** About 3,430  
 **Summary:** One of Jeeves's rare character flaws lands him in the soup. Can Bertie get him out?  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters. I'm just writing this for fun.  
 **Author's Notes:** This is in response to the Yule fic prompt, "Bertie gets Jeeves out of the soup, leading to a 'first time' encounter." Here is the rest at last! Part 1 is [here](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/1009413.html).

  
I will not deny that the steel entered my soul a bit at this point. Jeeves’s manner was not that of a man with great faith in my abilities. In fact, it struck me as positively ungrateful. The pride of the Jeeveses may have been smarting, but now my own _amour propre_ was wounded as well.

Another man might have washed his hands of the whole business at that point, but that is not the way of the Woosters. I was more determined than ever to cluster round and pull the bloke out of the brine by his well-starched collar whether he liked it or not.  
After Jeeves left the presence, I sat down and composed what I thought was a rather neatly worded letter of invitation to Mr. Woodmore and planted it on the kitchen table in a marked manner. I then biffed haughtily off to bed.

\---

“Well, Jeeves?” I said the next morning when he trickled in with the breakfast tray. “Did you find my missive?”

He looked pained. “Yes, sir.”

“And?”

“I had hoped, sir, that you might have changed your mind upon further consideration.”

“Well, I have not. See to it that the letter is delivered without delay. And remember, it’s no good trying to scupper me. I know your club’s address, and I will jolly well drop it on the doorstep by hand if I have to.”

“Just as you say, sir,” he said, and I could see that the frigidity of his manner had not abated one iota since the previous night.

However, I kept my head. As much as I dislike these little domestic crises that come up between us from time to time, I know how to stand my ground when the need arises.

“Right ho, Jeeves,” I said airily, stabbing at a nonchalant egg. “Go forth and deliver, and Godspeed, old fruit.”

\---

Now that the groundwork was laid, all that was left was to come up with a way to work the thing. If Jeeves was right – and he usually is – simply stuffing this Woodmore fellow with my bread and giving him the old oil wouldn’t be enough. I needed some sort of ruse, or scheme if you like. Normally, of course, I would turn to Jeeves for his good counsel in this sort of situation. It was no good under the present circs., however. I would simply have to bend my own grey matter to the task.

But as the moment of truth drew nigh, it became increasingly clear that no particularly fruity wheeze was going to come to me of its own accord. I started to wonder if Jeeves might not be on the right track, and I briefly considered giving the whole thing a miss. However, there was nothing doing in that regard. It was far too late to turn back. I would simply have to wait and hope inspiration might strike at the eleventh hour.

Woodmore arrived at the flat on the appointed day, and I could see at once that he would be a tough nut to crack. He was one of these staid, dignified old birds – not the sort of chap you can take out for a mug of the frothy and a few good laughs. He blew in with such an air of cachet that I instinctively reached for my hat, even though I wasn’t wearing one. I settled instead for a firm shake of the mitt.

“Well, well, and all that!” I said. “What ho, Woodmore? So glad you could make it.”

“It was most gracious of you to invite me, Mr. Wooster,” he said in a stately sort of way. “I have heard much about you, sir. Mr. Jeeves always looked upon you with the highest regard.”

I must say I rankled a bit at his use of the past tense, but I decided to let it slide. “As I do him,” I replied. “Wonderful chap, Jeeves. I’ve always thought of him not so much as a valet, but as a guide, philosopher and friend.”

“I am sure he would be most gratified to hear it, Mr. Wooster.”

“Oh, rather.”

There was an awkward gap in the chin-wag at this juncture. I finally extended a welcoming arm in the direction of the dining room.

“Shall we?”

“Very good, Mr. Wooster.”

Jeeves was lying—or rather standing—in wait in the old d. r., looking more ossified than ever. The two chaps exchanged a stiff nod, and Mr. Woodmore took his seat. Dashed awkward, of course, but what could one do? Jeeves ladled out the soup and silently streamed out, leaving us alone to tuck into it.

“The soup is most delectable, Mr. Wooster,” the old boy finally remarked.

“Ah, yes, thank you. One of Jeeves’s finer efforts, what? He always prepares an excellent nosh, you know.”

“I am sure he performs his duties more than adequately, Mr. Wooster.” There was a certain coolness in his voice, and I could see that I needed to take a different tack. I picked agonizingly at my roll. I was starting to get the feeling more than ever that I was in over my head.

“Now, look here, my dear chap,” I said finally, deciding to take a whack at a bit of the old manly frankness, “I’ve heard about this bit of unpleasantness with Jeeves and one of the other boys at the club.”

He raised a well-honed eyebrow. “Have you indeed, Mr. Wooster?”

“Yes, I have. Not that Jeeves volunteered the information, mind you. He’s very discreet about these sorts of things.”

“I’m sure he is, Mr. Wooster.”

“I sort of got it out of him, you see. Not that I’m a chap to pry . . .”

“I’m sure you are not, Mr. Wooster.”

“It’s just that he was so bally depressed about the whole thing, and I simply had to know what it was all about. But the point is, well, that’s sort of what I’ve invited you here to talk about, as it were.”

“It is most unfortunate, Mr. Wooster, but there is little to discuss.” He bit off a deliberate chunk of bread and then fell silent, as if that put the matter to a close.

“Yes, but I say. If you’d only talk to him for a moment, you’d see how contrite the poor chap is. Couldn’t you see your way to giving him another chance?”

“I fear not, sir. The assault of a fellow member is a serious breach of club protocol.”

“But he was provoked, dash it! It wasn’t as if he clipped the blighter in cold blood.”

“I am aware of the circumstances, Mr. Wooster. The committee took this into consideration. I can assure you that such decisions are not made lightly.”

“But surely a chap as upstanding as Jeeves—I mean to say, the fellow is a bally national treasure. He is one of a kind . . . a paragon! You seem like a discerning sort of chap – you must see that! Would you begrudge him one little lapse? And as hard as it is to believe, even Jeeves is human, what? Surely every cove is entitled to lose his cool and biff another cove at least once in his puff.” I sat back and waited to see how this would go over. Not my most eloquent work, perhaps, but passionately delivered. It would have been apparent to even the meanest of intellects that I was all of a doo-dah.

However, the Woodmore blighter appeared unmoved. He sipped his soup indifferently and gazed out the window for a few ticks before speaking again. “I feel obliged, Mr. Wooster, to point out that this is not the first time that Mr. Jeeves has flaunted club rules. We allowed the earlier transgression to pass, taking into consideration his long and otherwise untarnished record as a member in good standing.”

“Ah,” I said, sitting back and nodding knowingly. “Are you referring to his removal of the section entitled ‘Wooster, B.’ from the club book?”

Woodmore eyed me keenly, and I could see I’d made a grievous misstep. “You _know_ ,” he said severely, “of the club book?”

“Well, er, only in the most passing sense.”

He shook his head sadly. “Then the situation is more serious than I imagined. The keeping of the club book is one of our most well-guarded and esteemed traditions. It is not to be discussed lightly with individuals outside of the establishment. Not even employers, sir.”

I cringed inwardly. If drastic steps were not taken to apply the old balm, the whole thing was apt to gang severely agley. “Ah, but you see, he was merely acting out of a sense of the feudal spirit,” I said, hoping I had hit upon the right note at last. “Why, Jeeves is positively dripping with the stuff. He puts it before all else. By removing those pages from the club book, he was only looking out for the interests of the young master. And seeing that your establishment is, after all, a club for gentlemen’s gentlemen, I should think that would stand for something.”

The elderly chap shook his head again. “Be that as it may, Mr. Wooster, the club book is not the issue at present. The reason for Mr. Jeeves’s expulsion was his behavior at the meeting of the sartorial committee.”

“Yes, well, quite.” Another silence elapsed, this one even more a. than the last. It seemed to me that I had run up sharply against a particularly implacable brick wall. Jeeves floated in a moment later with the next course, and as he left he gave me such a wounded look that it was all I could do not to jump up and run after him. Still, I remained stalwart. We Woosters are not so easily dissuaded.  

“I say,” I said at length, “what exactly did this other fellow say to ruffle Jeeves’s feathers to such an extent? It must have been bally awful.”

Woodmore coughed austerely. “I should not like to repeat it, sir.”

I heaved an exasperated s. It was becoming clear that this sort of reticence was a mark of the breed. “At least give me a general outline,” I urged.

“Very well. Among other words that I shall not reproduce in civilized company, Mr. Finch asserted that Mr. Jeeves had no business inserting his rather prominent nose into other people’s affairs, and that he should remove the unsightly thing before someone decided to take drastic action.”

I sucked in the breath. Had I been standing, I probably would have reeled. “Good lord!”

“Yes, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Finch is assuredly not blameless in this unfortunate affair. However . . .”

But as he was speaking, I had one of those rare, sublime moments when inspiration strikes like a thunderbolt and an incandescent bulb suddenly bursts into life above the bean. I barely restrained myself from leaping to my feet and crying “Eureka!” Or at least, I think that’s what chaps generally cry under such circumstances.

“Is that really what this Finch blighter said? But see here,” I said, “it’s all been a great misunderstanding!”

“Indeed, Mr. Wooster? How is that?”

“Why, Jeeves must have completely misheard the whole thing. He gave me to understand that Finch was knocking our King.”  

“The King? I fail to understand, you, Mr. Wooster.”

“He must have heard the word ‘thing’ and misconstrued it, if misconstrued is the word I want.”

Woodmore looked at me through his eyebrows. “With all due respect, Mr. Wooster, I find this very difficult to believe.”

I lowered the voice conspiratorially. “I know it seems rather a stretch, but I assure you, it’s quite true. You see – and I bring this up only hesitantly, because it’s rather a sensitive issue for the poor chap – Jeeves is terribly hard of hearing.”

“I was not aware of this, Mr. Wooster.”

“Well, he’s dashed good at hiding it, you know. He gets along all right most of the time, picking up the general gist of what’s being said to him, reading an odd lip here and there. I’d noticed it getting worse over the past few days. I imagine he’s got a touch of the cold on top of everything else, so at the moment he’s practically stone deaf.”

“I see.”

“Terribly tragic and all that. I gather he had a bout of scarlet fever when he was a mere stripling, and he was never the same after. But I’m sure you’ll agree this puts an entirely different spin on things, what?”

“In what way, Mr. Wooster?”

“Well, you can hardly blame a man for jumping to the defense of his Sovereign’s honor, can you? Jeeves is most terribly devoted to old King George, don’t you know. It’s that feudal spirit I was talking about.”

The aged bird still looked dubious. “Well, Mr. Wooster . . .”

“Would you have it known,” I asked severely, “that the Junior Ganymede is the sort of establishment that would turn out a well-respected member for the crime of being _too_ loyal to crown and country?”

Woodmore set down a grave napkin and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “I admit, sir, that your testimony does cast the matter in a new light.”

“Then . . . you will reconsider?”

“Well, perhaps, Mr. Wooster. It was, as I said, only with the deepest reluctance that we were obliged to let Mr. Jeeves go.”

I smote the table emotionally. “There’s a superlative chap! Shall I call in Jeeves so that you can give him the good news yourself?”

“Well, sir—“

But I was already tinkling the bell with more force than was strictly necessary. “Jeeves!” I bellowed.

My man materialized abruptly. “Sir?”

“Mr. Woodmore has something to tell you, Jeeves,” I said loudly. “It’s all been a misunderstanding. Isn’t that right, Woodmore?”

Woodmore got to his feet and nodded curtly to Jeeves. “Mr. Wooster has been providing me with some most interesting information,” he said.  

Jeeves looked befuddled – not an expression that crosses his map often. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Woodmore?”

I clicked the tongue. “There, you see? You must speak up, Woodmore. I’m terribly sorry, Jeeves,” I shouted. “I didn’t want to give away your secret, old top, but I didn’t see any other recourse.” I gave my ear a meaningful tap.

Jeeves’s left eyebrow rose a few millimeters. “I see, sir.”

“Might I have a word with you, Reginald?” said Woodmore.

“Certainly,” said Jeeves. “If you will pardon us, sir?”

“By all means,” I said, and I biffed off and left them to it.

\---

I was on the chesterfield smoking an anxious cigarette when the two chaps emerged from the dining room. While their manner was still not exactly chummy, I detected a distinct lessening in the tension. Still thick, mind you, but no longer something you could slice through with a knife.

“I thank you again for your hospitality, Mr. Wooster,” said Woodmore, “but now I regret I must be on my way. I have club business to attend to. Goodbye, sir.”

“Oh, ah. Well, pip pip, then. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Farewell, Mr. Jeeves.”

“Mr. Woodmore,” said Jeeves. He handed the old fellow his coat and hat and ushered him out.

“Well, Jeeves?” I said, once our guest had gone.

Jeeves turned and looked at me with a sort of rummy gleam in his eye. All the former frostiness had melted out of his demeanor. One corner of his mouth crept up about half a millimeter. “Mr. Woodmore informed me of the details of your discussion. It was . . . a most inventive solution, sir. I scarcely know what to say.”

I leaped up. “You mean it worked, Jeeves? All is hotsy-totsy on the Ganymede front once more?”

“He did not believe you, sir,” said Jeeves gently.

The heart sank, and self with it. I deposited myself heavily on the chesterfield. “Oh, Jeeves! I’m so sorry, old top. I suppose I might have stretched the point a bit too far for credibility, eh?” I sighed and dropped the bean into my hands. “I really thought the old bounder had bought it, too.”

I sensed a valet-shaped form looming nearby, and lifted my head to see that Jeeves had drifted closer and was gazing at me benevolently. “Your efforts were not entirely wasted, sir,” he said. “Mr. Woodmore was deeply moved by your impassioned defense of my character and motives.”

I boggled. “He was?”

“Mr. Woodmore is not a demonstrative man, sir. He tends to wear the mask, if I may use the expression. However, he was in fact powerfully affected by your plea. He has agreed to bring my case up before the committee once more. He feels certain that he can convince them to revoke my expulsion in favor of a suspension.”

I was overcome. My heart, which had been sloshing about somewhere in the neighborhood of my digestive tract, suddenly bounded up into my throat. “Why, Jeeves! That’s—that’s simply . . . I’m at a loss for words, old thing.”  

The rummy gleam intensified. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I am in your debt.”

“By no means! It was the least I could do, after all the times you’ve come to the aid of the party.”

“You are most kind, sir.” He floated a little closer still. “I must apologize for my earlier aloofness. You were quite correct, sir. I allowed my pride to get the best of me.”

I stood up again, and this time I did knead his shoulder. “Say no more, Jeeves. I have already put it from my mind.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And Jeeves—“

“Sir?”

“I do hope you haven’t taken any of the rot that Finch blighter said to heart.”

“Oh, no, sir.”

I swallowed a couple times. I was filled with the milk of human kindness up to the eyeteeth, and affection for the dear cove was burgeoning in my breast. I put in a bit more shoulder-kneading. “You’re a dashed fine-looking chap, Jeeves.”

“It is very kind of you to say so, sir.”

“Just saying sooth. Have you ever caught sight of yourself sideways?”  

“It is not a view that presents itself to me readily for inspection, sir.”

“Well, you _should_ inspect it sometime, if you ever have a spare moment.” I said, warming to the theme. “It’s well worth the time. ‘John Barrymore’ is the name that springs almost unbidden to the lips.”

I couldn’t swear to it, but I daresay the honest fellow actually blushed a bit. “You flatter me, sir.”

“We Woosters do not flatter, Jeeves.” I realized suddenly that my hand was still resting on his shoulder, and I quickly withdrew it. I could feel a blush mantling my own map. “I say . . . shall I tell you something rummy?”

“If you like, sir.”

“I rather liked hearing about the wild, impulsive side of you. I don’t know why. Just something gratifying in the thought of it.”

“Really, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves. I mean, it wouldn’t do to have you landing in the soup over it again, but I shouldn’t mind seeing it come out a bit about the home from time to time. Not that I want you to haul off and slosh me in the mazzard next time we have some little difficulty over a pair of spats or whatnot . . .”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“I’m just saying you might let your hair down once in a while, if you know what I mean.”  

“As you wish, sir,” he said. And before I could say “Right ho,” he had enfolded me in a close embrace and pressed his lips close to mine. Presently he released me, and I sat down abruptly, feeling as if the rug had been yanked out from under my feet. The room seemed to spin.

“Is that what you had in mind, sir?”

“I’m not sure what exactly I had in mind,” I replied breathlessly, “but that will do nicely.”

“I am gratified to hear it, sir,” said Jeeves, joining me on the chesterfield.

I slipped an arm or two around his waist. “There is none like you, Jeeves, none. You stand alone.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, maneuvering me into a more longitudinal bearing. “I endeavor to give satisfaction. Shall I continue to behave impulsively, sir?”

“Carry on, Jeeves,” I gasped. “You might start by undoing my tie. It’s suddenly feeling awfully tight.”

“Very good, sir.”  

I would have said “Thank you, Jeeves,” but I found myself otherwise occupied. I'm sure he got the sentiment, anyway.

\---

FIN


End file.
